


We're The Wild Ones

by lionkate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Suicide Attempt, Violence, implied jackson/lydia - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionkate/pseuds/lionkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't want to kill anyone. she's a kid- just a kid- even though this would have been her last reaping. None of us want to kill anyone, she tells herself, but we have no choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're The Wild Ones

**Author's Note:**

> This was started some years back, so it won't include any of the newer characters.

**I.**

 

She doesn't want to kill anyone. she's a kid- just a kid- even though this would have been her last reaping. None of us want to kill anyone, she tells herself, but we have no choice. She's trembling when her parents are let into the mayor's office, her mother's office.

“You can shoot.” Her father is saying. “There's a reason I taught you how to use a bow. You can do this. You can win.”

Part of her wants to say that she doesn't want to win, she doesn't want to be part of this stupid thing at all. Maybe they could protest. No one killed anyone, they just camped out in the arena for however long. It wouldn't work.

Then her mother is there, solid and calm. “Kill them all, Allison, you can kill them all.”

She makes to protest.

“No, you kill them all and you come back to us.” Her hands are cool against the thin material of Allison's dress and it anchors her. “Even Scott.”

The breath she takes hurts. She could almost forget, when she was busy trying to catch her breath, that her stupid asthmatic boyfriend had volunteered. She wants to scream.

She doesn't. “Mom-”

“Allison, if he comes back without you, I'll kill him myself.”

It rings in her head even after the Peacekeepers lead them out of the room. It's deafening when Stiles stumbles in.

His eyes are red-rimmed, but his cheeks are dry and she thinks she recognizes the soft look of shock on his face.

“I'm sorry.” He says. “I'm so sorry, Allison.” His hands reach out to her for a second before he shoves them roughly into the pockets of his dull gray dress pants. “I didn't know he would- I didn't want him to- I can't believe he volunteered.”

A silence falls between them and she knows it's just a matter of time before his father has no choice but make him leave and lead her to her death.

“I believe it.” Is all she can bring herself to say.

His father is opening the door again, apologizing, telling them it's time. Allison avoids his eyes, avoids both their eyes. She's going to die in the arena, she knows it, but if she looks in their eyes and sees that they know it too, she'll die right here.

“Yeah.” Stiles says at the door and she looks at him again. “I believe it too.”

Peacekeeper Stilinski leads her out to the station, his hand just hovering over her arm, as if he's not sure whether he should touch her or not. His nearness anchors her, either way. Reminds her that she can't just run until they shoot her down.

But, when Scott is brought out to the platform, he leaves her side without a word. He hugs Scott to him so tightly she imagines it hurts. Scott hugs back just as hard.

“Take care of my mom. Please.” He says, and if she wasn't so attuned to the sound of his voice, she might not have heard it.

Peacekeeper Stilinski squeezes him again. “I will. I won't let anything happen to her.” Allison looks away, eyes to the sky in hopes that somehow that will keep her from crying. “Thank you, Scott.”

Finstock is shouting for them now, that Capitol accent ringing in their heads, and she squares her shoulders.

Before she can take her first step Scott is beside her, linking his fingers with hers. She wants to cry now more than ever. She doesn't.

She squeezes Scott's hand and risks a glance his way when they board the train. He's smiling at her.

 

**II.**

 

Despite all belief to the contrary, Scott isn't stupid. He knows they probably won't make it out of this alive. One of them certainly won't. But, if he has anything to say about it, Allison might just come home.

He hadn't really thought about it. Instinct took over and by the time he'd realized what was happening he was already out of the line, rushing to Stiles. He doesn't even remember saying the words. But they play back to him on the train, over and over.

“ _I volunteer!”_

They didn't get many volunteers down in District 12, the Capitol loved it.

He may not remember saying it, but he doesn't regret it. It was too much for him, he thinks, to lose the love of his life  _and_ his best friend.

It was a stupid move, though, that much he knows. Stiles doesn't have asthma, Stiles had a far better chance of survival. It's too late now.

Allison doesn't look at him for more than a few seconds, but she doesn't pull away when he holds her hand, so that's not too bad. She's probably angry with him. He'd be angry with her if she'd put herself up for the slaughter this way.

He still doesn't regret it.

Across the train car Derek Hale, one of District 12's only two winners, sits and watches them. No one says anything.

The silence isn't something he's used to. There's no such thing with Stiles around- he thinks back now and realizes just how much he loves noise. He clears his throat.

“So, uh, you're our mentor.”

The way Derek looks at them scares him a little. More than a little. It's angry, it's predatory. He remembers very briefly something a classmate's father once said.  _“Stay away from him, I remember his games, he was an animal.”_

He wonders where their other mentor is. Not that Peter Hale would be able to do much mentoring.

“Why did you volunteer?”

When Derek finally speaks, after what feels like hours, Scott jumps. Allison's grip on his hand tightens almost painfully.

“What?”

“Why did you volunteer?”

Predatory was right. Derek didn't so much walk towards them as he stalked. He was an imposing figure, all sharp lines and darkness, and Scott tries to remember his Games. But eight years ago his mother tried to keep him from the Games as much as possible and all he remembers is that he wasn't the only Hale to play.

“Why did you volunteer?” It's Allison that asks this time, holding his gaze for the first time since the Reaping.

His mouth goes dry.  _To protect you,_ he thinks, but doesn't say.  _Because I can't live without both of you,_ still not right. One way or another, she'll be angry with him.

“Stiles is my best friend.” Is what he settles on.

The look Derek gives him, this incredulous, confused look, makes him wonder just how awful Derek's life is that he can't understand why Scott would give his life for the people he loves. It makes him happy, for a second, that he doesn't plan on making it out of the arena alive, because being a Champion doesn't seem that great.

For the rest of the train ride he catches Derek giving him similar looks. But, Allison is talking to him again and he's far more preoccupied trying to memorize every inch of her than trying to make Derek understand.

Derek likes Allison better anyway, he thinks. He understands her and even Scott knows they have a similar sort of strength.

Scott really isn't stupid.

He wants Derek to focus on her. Allison would be a better bet even if Scott was trying.

Besides, Finstock seems to like him better. At least, he doesn't force Allison to take a tour of the train and doesn't smack her in the head when she mistakes the name of the china patterns. He'll learn about china patterns and Allison will learn how to survive.

And later he'll ask Derek to teach him to make Allison survive too.

 

**III.**

 

Allison makes sense to him. She's strong and focused and already has a skill he can use to try and keep her alive. Allison did not volunteer. Allison is already healthy from life as the mayor's daughter. Allison he understands and, for maybe the first time, he thinks he might be able to keep her alive.

He doesn't know what to make of Scott.

Why? The Stilinski boy not only had the advantage of a healthier town diet, but he also didn't have asthma. A large advantage. As far as he can tell from the conversations he overhears between his two new tributes, Stiles (he's fairly certain that was not the name they called out) was also a good bit smarter than Scott.

And still he volunteered. Out of love for his best friend, or his girlfriend, or both. It makes Derek dizzy.

When they reach the capitol they both look out the windows with barely contained curiosity, but it's Scott's smiles that seem the most real. Which confuses him even more considering he all but told Derek his main goal was not his own survival, but Allison's.

Derek almost punched him.

He's never had a tribute so willing to sacrifice himself. He may not have been the best mentor, but at least his other tributes wanted to live.

He glares all through their first dinner in the Capitol and threatens to tear Finstock's throat out if he tells him to try the pudding one more time. But, when they ask him how to survive, even though he focuses on Allison, he still tries to get through to Scott.

Late at night, when he's plagued with visions of blood and fire and his sister in two, Derek understands. He'd give his soul to turn things around. He wishes, with everything in his broken body, that Laura had found him ripped at the middle, and not the other way around.

He understands Scott.

When the time comes for the opening ceremony and Deaton sets them both on fire, Derek feels like bursting. By the time Deaton approaches him in the back and apologizes, with a nod of his head (because Derek's known him long enough to understand what he means), he doesn't even care.

It doesn't matter that the Game left his uncle burnt and ruined, a shell of a person. It doesn't matter that he knows it's no coincidence that him and Laura were picked together. It doesn't matter that his whole family is gone.

What matters is those two stupid kids holding hands in their chariot, for all the world to see, and the fact that he's going to save at least one of them.

For the first time in years, he starts playing to the sponsors. He gives them the smiles they want, less animal and more charm, and compliments them on their ridiculous new wigs. He takes them out for drinks and doesn't flinch when they touch him like they know him.

He sells the idea of their young love even as he tries to convince Scott to care about himself ( _“You're not in love, Scott. You're sixteen and stupid. You don't know what you want.”_ ).

When Allison corners him one night and demands that he also help Scott he tells her, truthfully, that he is. He wants Scott to live. He wants Scott to live too much.

He tells Scott to run, Allison too but she has a slightly greater chance of surviving the Cornucopia.

He promises Scott that he'll take care of Allison. He promises Allison he'll try and get the sponsors to send something for his asthma. Scott will try to live longer if only because he can't help Allison dead. The thought proves only a little comfort.

The night before he's forced to walk them to their deaths he stands at the viewing platform and watches all of the tributes. They're children. 

He says it out loud on accident and Kate, the champion from 8 three years before him, laughs at him.  _“We were kids too.”_ She says as if that makes anything better. 

 

**IV.**

 

Of course she did. Of course she fucking did. Why wouldn't she just up and volunteer? It was just like her to steal his spotlight. This was his moment of fame and glory and she'd forced her way in and stolen everything from him.

She should have waited. That had been the plan.

He would volunteer and come out victorious- there was no other option- and then she would volunteer the next year and join him in the Victor's Village.

But no.

He'd only just managed to keep from yelling at her on the podium, every muscle shaking with contained rage. On the train he'd thrown china and crystal vases. No matter how hard Harris tried to pry the knife he'd embedded into the wood paneling of the dining car it hadn't budged.

Lydia, of course, hadn't said a word. She'd just sat there, filed her nails, and rolled her eyes at him. Their blow up had been spectacularly one-sided.

In front of the cameras, however, Jackson and Lydia of District 1 were golden. Beautiful and deadly with a lifetime's preparation behind them. With the exception of the, in his opinion, laughable team from District 12 there's really no competition to be had.

Lydia insisted there was great potential in the girl. He could almost see it, but her little tag-a-long was pathetic and asthmatic and she didn't look willing to leave him behind, so she was useless to them. While Lydia tried to turn her over to their team, he spoke with the boy from 3. Danny would be much better than the half-starved rats from 12.

When the countdown begins he swallows and quickly glances at Lydia. He almost glares at her when he remembers that she did this to them and now one of them is definitely going to die, but she glances back at just the right time and nods at him.

They both dive straight for the cornucopia.

Lydia is faster, lighter, and she slips right through to the center where a spear is waiting for her. It goes straight through the bald kid from six.

The first thing he reaches is a club. He grabs hold and swings around just in time to knock the girl from 7 in the cheek. Her teeth go flying. She doesn't get up.

The boy from 9 is charging at him, fool that he is. Jackson nails him in the gut and takes a certain delight in wrenching the knife from his hands to stab in his jugular. The blood gurgles in his mouth.

In the center of the Cornucopia Lydia is defending herself against the large blonde girl from 5 with another spear (distant has always been Lydia's preferred state). He doesn't bother to keep looking, she'll be dead in a minute.

Several feet to his right Danny has killed the boy from 8. They nod at each other and assess their surroundings. Many of the tributes took off, grabbing only the nearest packs and scurrying like rodents. The three of them (he knows from the scream that Lydia's disposed of her opponent) are the only ones left with all the supplies.

While Danny goes to look at the body of his partner (bashed in the head with a rock from the looks) he checks on their supplies. Not Lydia, she doesn't have a scratch. He doesn't worry about her. She's already hoarding what remains to the center, getting everything ready, like they planned.

Later, they'll hunt. Later they'll kill the little boy from 10. Later Danny and Lydia's bombs will take out both the tributes from 2.

Later she'll be run through by the boy from 5, Matt (he'll remember his name). Later Jackson will hold him in the water until he stops struggling.

 

**V.**

 

She'd known, of course, that the Capitol had a cure for her. The Capitol didn't have to deal with their bodies betraying them because they had absolutely everything under control. She'd come to that conclusion many years ago and had contented herself with knowing there was no chance she'd ever have it (contented may have been a strong word).

So it made her shake with fury when they gave her exactly what she needed just long enough to not embarrass them during their parade. It wouldn't look good to have a tribute suddenly start seizing in the middle of their program, Erica thought to herself, but it was just fine to have it happen during the games.

It was another form of entertainment, their Victor had explained while Erica glared. Not only could the Capitol gamble on who would kill who, but there was a chance that she might just kill herself. World class entertainment.

They made her pretty, fixed her insides, paraded her through their streets, and then took it all away from her.

Erica had become a fury. The rage boiled right under her skin and she hadn't even flinched when her partner told her he wouldn't go down with her. She found a new partner in the boy from District 4. He was tall and skinny and she could see the rage in him too.

They team up together and it works because they both agree to run at the Cornucopia. They take off like lightning in the opposite direction. His legs are longer than hers and she's fully convinced he's going to just go without her, but his hand is reaching blindly behind him for hers.

When they stop they're miles away and they can hear running water. It's probably the most beautiful sound in the world just then. They drink greedily, knowing they don't have anywhere to carry it in and this might be the last time for a while.

That's when the boy from 11 falls through the foliage. They both jump and reach for the nearest rocks, Erica stumbles back in the stream.

His hands go up in surrender immediately. “Please. Don't. I just want to drink. I'm not even armed.” He says, eyes pleading. There is a bag over his shoulder, but no signs of a weapon.

She glances at Isaac as quickly as she dares and finds him looking back at her. There's a similar confusion in his eyes. Boyd (she remembers his name- how could she not) may not be armed, but he could crush both their skulls in his hands.

They let him drink though, huddled together to one side. When he's done he settles back on his haunches. They study each other.

“You guys, you partnered up?” They nod. “Could-” Boyd swallows and runs a wet hand down his face. “Could I join you guys?”

It doesn't make any sense for him to want to join them. Isaac was pegged as weak from the beginning- he was already bruised when his name was called out and the older Lahey son had been killed three games ago. Everyone knows her problems. It doesn't make any sense, but he looks so earnest.

“Why? I could seize up right here or in the middle of a fight and bring you both down.” Erica says.

He shrugs and says it doesn't matter, they're all dead anyways. He says at least they won't die alone.

And she doesn't. When the Greenberg boy from 7 hits her with his poison dart and she tastes that telltale blood Isaac is with her. Boyd kills the boy. Then he's with her too.

They both hold her hands, shouting at each other, trying to figure out what to do. She wishes she could tell them there's nothing to do, to get away before anyone else comes, but even if she could talk when it's over the poison is making her numb.

It hurts her more to realize they're probably not going to last much longer than her.

Boyd is running a hand through her hair as she settles. “It's okay. It's okay.” He keeps saying even though he knows it's not.

Isaac looks like he's going to cry.

They're all going to die.

It's strange, she thinks but can't say, that this is probably the most loved she's ever felt.

 

**VI.**

 

There's a new sort of fury in Isaac that hadn't been there before. Boyd can see it when the cannon booms overhead, it's a physical reaction.

He stands taller, back straight, a feral look on his face. Boyd understands.

They race through the night, stopping only long enough to have a drink where they can find it. It feels like the remaining tributes are all around them. They are hunted. They are cornered.

When they stumble through a clearing to find themselves in the sights of the girl from 12 Isaac lunges. He nearly slips through Boyd's fingers, but he feels cloth in his hands and he pulls. Isaac stumbles back against him just as the arrow flies into the tree trunk behind him.

“Don't!” He shouts.

Isaac scrambles, feet slipping on the wet dirt, as they stumble to cover. They clutch at each other.

“Allison!” The shout comes from somewhere in the darkness, the boy from 12. She shouts back for him.

“Scott!”

He can hear the crunch of leaves and snap of twigs. His heart batters into his ribs as he looks over the rock formation. She still has the bow raised and ready, but the boy throws himself at her. He pulls her to him and says something too quiet for Boyd to hear.

She squeezes him tight, but her eyes never leave the spot Isaac and him are hiding in. She moves, reluctantly, when Scott pulls her. When her eyes move forward, Scott's find his instead.

He gestures to them- _run,_ it says, _be careful._

Boyd understands.

That boy is going to die, he feels, and he's sorry for it.

Isaac dies and Boyd can't do anything about it. He tugs at rock after rock, trying to free him from the cave in, while Isaac shouts and cries from inside. When he falls silent Boyd calls to him instead.

It's foolish, calling this much attention to themselves. To himself.

In a broken voice Isaac tells him to run. Then he screams at him to run.

“I'm sorry.” He says, before he leaves him.

He's still running when the cannon booms. He will be running for the remainder of his short life. Once you start, you can't stop.

He doesn't see who digs the knife into his stomach as he's running past, but he feels contact with his fists and he hopes maybe he's been able to do something. Maybe his district will remember him.

 

**VII.**

 

Stiles can hardly bear to look at Melissa Mccall. She would never openly blame him, would never say as much. She might even be too good to think it. But Stiles blames himself enough for everyone.

They sit and watch her son fight for his life and all he can think is that it should have been him.

He can tell what his stupid best friend is doing, and he just hopes maybe it's not so obvious to his mom. His dumb best friend is protecting Allison, he's playing for her. His idiot best friend he's probably never going to see again.

She cries when Scott starts having an asthma attack and his dad holds her tight until they spot the little silver package falling from the sky. They hold their breath while Allison's shaky hands press the inhaler to his lips.

They have a quiet reflective moment on screen, Allison pressing kisses to Scott's head, and the Capitol cameras are loving it. Stiles wants to kill them all. He wants to throw them into the arena, every last entitled monster who finds this entertaining.

His knuckles are white from the effort of not punching straight through the screen.

“ _There's only three of us left.”_ Scott tells her.

He's been counting the canons it seems, but he can't know that the other tribute still alive is the jackass from 1. They don't know that he has a club and knives and a paralytic and every damn other thing he could get his hands on.

He can't know for sure that they're being hunted.

“ _We'll be alright.”_ Allison tells him. It's easier to lie, Stiles assumes.

The effects of his asthma attack seem to be wearing off, because he looks up and gives his this big uneven smile. The commentators love it. The Capitol, Stiles assumes, loves it.

He doesn't believe their change of rules for a second. He doesn't say anything, because he can't bear to shoot down Melissa's hope, but he knows they're all liars. When it's just Scott and Allison,  _if_ it's just Scott and Allison, the Capitol will make them kill each other too.

And Scott never would.

When the cameras leave Scott and Allison it's because the boy from 1, Jackson, is near. He's hunting them, Stiles realizes.

His dad talks to the screen as if they could hear him. “Go, go. Get out of there.” He tells them.

And then Jackson turns the wrong way. He can hear the disappointment in the commentators voices. How sad, more children won't be dying for them just yet. He should have known the gamemakers wouldn't let it be.

The fire springs up starts just yards in front of Jackson, as if it's been there the whole time. Stiles hopes he freezes, trips, isn't fast enough and the fire swallows him whole. But he moves with practiced efficiency and takes off in the opposite direction.

The arena is leading him right to Scott and Allison.

They smell the smoke before they see it, turning in circles to try and find the source. Scott sees it first, grabs Allison's hand, and runs.

The ground beneath them is uneven and rough and they struggle to stay upright. Scott's breaths are uneven and rough. Stiles can't breathe at all.

And then Jackson is in the bursting from the foliage, fire moving fast behind him, and his eyes narrow in on them. He is never not playing the game. Even as they run for their lives, he takes a knife from his side and throws it.

Scott's stumble is the only thing that saves him and the knife slices across his arm rather than stick in his back.

Stiles only barely hears Melissa's scream.

But they're running still, Allison holding tight to his hand and pulling him along. She looks at the bow in her hands, but there isn't time. They just have to run.

Scott looks back at the fire and Jackson and Stiles lets himself think for a moment that the look on his face is out of personal concern. And then he's shouting for him.

“Come on!” He screams behind him. “Hurry!”

He imagines the look on Allison's face is a lot like his, horrified. When Scott reaches an arm back, as if to help the psychopathic knife throwing monster from 1, Stiles breaks.

His fists slam on the screen, over and over, as if it could get their attention. “You idiot!” He shouts at his stupid honorable best friend. “Let him die! He's going to kill you! Let him die! Kill him!”

But Scott would never.

His dad pulls him away, holds his arms down, says something. Stiles isn't paying attention. He doesn't charge at the screen again though.

“Scott, what are you doing?” Allison screams at him, tugs on his hand to pull him further from fire and Jackson and death.

Scott looks back at her for a second, then turns back to Jackson, still holding his hand out, though Allison keeps him too far. “We don't have to be like this.” He shouts back her over the roar of the fire.

“What?”

“We don't have to be what they want us to be.” His breath is ragged. “We can be better, we don't have to be killers.”

When Jackson does trip, falling hard against an outcropping of rocks Scott turns where he is and pulls against Allison.

His best friend is going to die trying to save some asshole who's trying to kill him.

Allison turns back, stops long enough to see why, and then she's pulling Scott again. “Scott, we can't!” She actually looks like she regrets it.

Stiles can't hide his relief, even as Jackson's screams follow them.

Scott is still looking back as he runs, the fire coming so close to them Stiles can see the reflection of it in his eyes. He looks like he's apologizing for not being able to save Jackson.

They're scrambling to reach the other side, but it doesn't matter. The fire is dying. It's over.

Melissa is crying beside him, his dad might be too. They think it's over, they really believe the Capitol will let them both live. Stiles feels like crying too.

They both sit on the far bank, panting and coughing, limbs shaking. When Scott looks at Allison his face changes, smiles so bright it makes everything worse. He grabs her and they're kissing and holding each other tight with a desperation the commentators don't understand.

There is silence.

And it starts to sink in. “Why aren't they announcing the end?” Melissa asks.

Then it comes, just as Stiles expected, they're revoking their previous rule. Only one can win.

Scott almost looks like he expected it too, smiles sadly at Allison, and sighs. Allison looks like a fury. Before she can rage Scott takes her hand and kisses her again. He stands, slowly, and moves a few feet away.

“It's okay, Allison. Do it.”

Stiles wants to yell at him, does yell at him.

“No. No.” She shakes her hand, stands and follows. “Scott, I won't do it. I can't.” She's clutching at the fabric of his shirt, pressing her forehead to his. “I won't.”

Before Scott can protest her expression changes and she pulls away. She's digging in her pockets for something. The look of determination on her face scares Stiles but, oddly, gives him hope. She pulls out a flower.

A little bundle of them, in fact. Blue and small and suddenly Stiles knows what she's thinking.

“It's aconite.” She says. “Wolfsbane. Poison.” She takes his hand, gives him half, and the Scott understands. “We can be better.”

Stiles watches them kiss one last time before they eat the flowers.

This is it, he's going to watch his best friend commit suicide for the entertainment of monsters.

The announcement comes through in a panic, demanding they stop, changing their minds. He can't believe it. His dad is holding Melissa while they cry in relief. Scott and Allison are spitting out the flowers, washing out their mouths in the stream. Stiles is frozen.

The games are over, the rules have changed, his friend is alive.

Everything has changed.

Through all his relief Stiles has a thought. The Capitol is weak. They will burn. 

 


End file.
